Never
by WeasleyPendragon
Summary: Fred's never been one who could conceal his emotions well, and when it comes to falling in love with George there is no exception. How does he balance bonds of brotherhood, ties of friendship, and the firey love he feels?  Twincest. Don't like, don't read. Slash and the like.
1. Breathe

**A/N: Whoo first publishy sort of fanfic! It's probably awful. More shall come in the near future, but I have an issue with not writing things in order. So I have super awesome future chapters and need to...erm...build the bridge to get there. xD So yes, please review, such and such. Oh, quick warning, will contain lovely twincest slash. If you don't like, don't read.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the characters, and as you should be able to assume, I am not the awesometastic owner, J. K. Rowling.**

He took in a large breath, letting it out excruciatingly slow, waiting to fill his lungs again until the identical chest in the bed next to him rose. He was used to this ritual by now, imitating his sleeping twins breathing until it lulled him to sleep. There was something comforting in being in sync with him, something happened naturally quite often. Tonight it wasn't working as well. He felt alone here, separated by the few feet between the beds. That small expanse seemed like miles, however, and he let out a quiet sigh, breaking the steady rhythm he had developed. He had tried to ignore the fact that It was getting worse.

He used to be able to ignore It, it turn his back to It. He thought, for a while, that he had defeated It. But It came back with a vehement passion, devouring Fred more every day. He had stopped It at a certain point, leaving himself semi-consumed. He could survive like that, feeding It with playful touches and lingering glances. Never enough to fully satisfy It, but to quiet Its roaring to a gentle grumble. But lately, It wasn't quieted so easily. Touches occurred more frequently, eyes unable to tear themselves away for so much longer than necessary. And nothing was enough. It got louder every day.

Fred rolled over with a groan. It wanted more, so much more, but he couldn't. George would notice if he tried to take much more. He had already caught Fred staring a few times, but he would simply shrug it off and flash a grin. One of those brilliant grins, his supple pink lips pulled back over white teeth, eyes crinkling up at the corners, sparkling lightly…

It screamed loudly, the thought of the smile simply teasing. Fred stood, stumbling to the bathroom. He turned on the faucet, blasting out icy water and splashing it over his face. He did this for several moments, waiting until It slowly fell to a dull roar. He stood slowly, looking into the mirror, blinking a few times. His hair was plastered to his forehead now, water still dripping down his face. He would never understand how people confused them. George's lips had slight curve Fred's didn't, adding a spark to him Fred simply didn't have. That spark carried on to his eyes, that marvelous brown swimming with life. Fred's own eyes seemed dull, so dull in comparison. He took a moment longer staring at his reflection before walking back to the room.

Climbing into bed he curled on his side, looking to George's bed again. His chest was still rising and falling steadily. Fred took a deep breath before imitating him again. All he had to do was breathe.


	2. Feathers

**A/N:-waves- Hello again! I've just realized...the title of this goes with a plot line I had been planning on following, but have decided not to. So I should probably be thinking of something else, but I'm far to lazy. **

**Anyway...It's been a while, hasn't it? xD It's not that long of chapter, it was more of a random assault of the keyboard last night. Therefore, the chance of a disgustingly large amount of typos is excedingly high. It'd be ever helpful if you pointed them out. :3**

Sleep was sometimes hard to find, but once it claimed Fred it was harder to escape from. He had a difficult time convincing himself to leave the one place he could be with George the way he wanted to be, the way he _needed_ to be. If Fred was ever to say he felt 'light as a feather' it would be when he dreamt. He wasn't one for many cliché expressions such as that, but there was no better way to describe it. He felt so carefree, no need to hide his deepest desires. When Ginny's high pitched voice attempted to break through the barrier sleep provided, it was met with more resistance than it could handle, leaving Fred sheltered in the peaceful grip of slumber. It wasn't until George's silky voice nudged his conscious that he stirred. He opened his eyes slowly, the elder twins face wavering into focus. Fred's mind lingered a bit too long on how his hair was ruffled just enough to make him look even more irresistible, nudging It to a more active state as well.

Fred sat up slowly, pushing a hand through his own presumably ruffled hair. "Why is waking up so hard?" he muttered, hardly finishing the sentence before yawning widely and giving up on the idea of sitting, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. George laughed softly, the sound sending a pang through Fred's body that brought It to full awareness.

Dealing with George in the mornings was hard. It wasn't George's fault; he didn't seem to get crabby as Fred did at this select time in the day. No, what made it so strenuous was separating reality from the dreams Fred had rested so comfortably in throughout the night. He had to remind himself that no matter how close they were in dreams, curled in each other's arms, exchanging feathery kisses and proclaiming love, during the day they were simply brothers. Close brothers, yes, but nowhere near how close Fred wished they could be.

"C'mon Freddie, Ginny said breakfast is ready. Ron will eat all the waffles again if we don't hurry." He could hear George standing and padding over to him, poking his shoulder. That was another thing. George _always_ seemed to touch him in the mornings. Waking him up or shoving him out the door or moving him from where he was standing yawning and stretching, his hands always seemed to find a way to Fred. There was no way he could know how much this drove Fred mad, how much it made him want to tear himself from his bed and tackle George down, pressing their lips together until he yielded and…

The day wasn't far enough along to be teasing It like this. Fred grunted into his pillow, partially a response to George's statement, partially a reaction to his annoyance at his inability to control his thoughts. George whined his name, making a statement about how hungry he was that Fred couldn't quite catch as his mind had gotten caught on the way his name sounded coming from George's lips the way it had. He batted a hand in George's direction, grunting again. He felt almost triumphant as he heard George walk away from his bed until he heard the footsteps returning. He grunted again as he felt George's pillow hitting the back of his head, pulling his own pillow out from under him and throwing it in the direction he believed George to be, refusing to lift his head further. That was a mistake on his part, seeing as how it gave George two pillows to assault him with. After several moments of being beat, he sat up and tore his pillow from George's hand, laughing as he did so. He reciprocated one of George's attacks, hitting him right across the face. A full blown war broke out after this, both of them scurrying around the room, whacking at each other and laughing madly. At some point, Fred tackled George to his bed, pinning the pillow over his face.

"I'm not letting you breathe until you admit defeat." George swatted madly with his hands, having lost his pillow amidst the tackling. Fred pushed the pillow down harder, waiting until George dropped his hands down to move it from his face. George laughed breathily when the pillow was moved.

"Did you know lack of oxygen could lead to brain damage?"

Fred rolled his eyes. "Oh, please, your brain is already damaged." George simply laughed, taking the previously abandoned pillow and hitting Fred gently. A few feathers flowered from the end, making them both look around the rest of the room and realize that several others had made their way out and settled various places around the room. Fred glanced back to George, a small feather having made its way down to his lip. George tried to blow it away, but it had stuck. Fred chuckled softly, reaching down and brushing the feather away, a shock seeming to travel through his arm as he made contact with George's lips. His fingers couldn't get enough of the smooth feel of them, traipsing along them slowly. It let out a low growl, asking Fred what they would feel like against his lips, and he leaned in slightly.

"Fred?" George's voice crashed through Fred's thoughts haphazardly and Fred freezes. He pulled his hand back quickly, realizing he had been tracing George's lips for several awkwardly long seconds. George is staring up at him, a look of obvious confusion muddling his expression. Ginny calls from the bottom of the stairs again, relieving them from having to stay in the awkward moment much longer. Fred clears his throat and slides from where he was sat on George, muttering an apology before hurrying out of the room.

Fred pushed into the bathroom, repeating the ritual from the night before in splashing icy water across his face, unable to bring himself to look in the mirror this time. He stared down into the basin of the sink, distracted by a small feather that had stuck to his hand; flicking his wrist and watching it float down to the floor. He was so like that feather, spending a few moments of his time suspended in bliss, but unable to stay there, hitting the cold, empty expanse of the ground the moment things like reality stepped in.

He shook his head, scoffing at how ridiculous he was being. With a small shuffle, the feather is pushed to the corner of the room, and he does the same to his thoughts, hiding them in a corner of his mind. With a deep breath, he opened the door and headed down the stairs, hoping there were still some waffles left.


	3. Distance

The warmth of George's lips against his skin was simply consuming. Every time they connected it felt like a small fire was started, spreading across his nerves until it felt like every inch of him was absolutely burning with pleasure. "More," he pleaded breathily, hearing a soft chuckle from his twin, feeling the hot touch of his tongue against his thigh. "Someone's demanding..." the husky voice purred, another flash of tongue against Fred's skin that made him squirm and roll his head back as a low moan tried to force its way from his throat. "Please, George, please!" he added desperately, and is rewarded with another low chuckle before that glorious mouth has found its way around Fred and is pleasing him in every sinful way it knew how.

Then George was on top of him- no, just over him, but there was something heavy weighing on Fred's stomach and before he could figure out what it was George was screaming at him, his face red and expression hurt. Fred couldn't understand a single word tumbling from his brother's mouth and he is begging helplessly for George to stop; even though he couldn't understand anything he knew that he'd lost his twin. Suddenly, there's a sharp sting on his cheek and George is stood there, looking between his hand and Fred's face like he has no idea what he's done. The room spins and George is on top of Fred, filling him up somehow, and their lips are pressed together and tongues dancing and George is making that glorious noise that drives Fred to roll his hips and make George louder, sending sharp spirals through his own body in the process.

Fred's eyes flew open, his breathing heavy. It took him several long moments to figure out where he was, glancing around and blinking the sleep from his eyes. His gaze landed on George, his heart doing an odd flip in his chest when he seemed closer than Fred expected.

"Alright there, Freddie?" George's eyebrow was arched slightly, the chocolate frog he was about to take another bite from held in his hand hovering close to his mouth. Fred nodded quickly before adverting his eyes to the window, staring out at the blurred scenery and focusing on the sound of the train rocking over the tracks. This was the last place he wanted to be as aroused as he was. Honestly, he hadn't had a dream that intense since the morning he'd almost gotten too close. He didn't know why they'd chosen to return the one time there was no way he could get far from George. Of course, that's why they would, things like this were always worse when he had to be close to George. Fred had quickly grown to realize It wasn't the sort of thing to be easily satisfied. The more Fred gave in, the more It wanted.

Fred heard a disbelieving scoff from the other side of the car, chancing a glance at the other ginger. "Don't look at me like that, Fred." George's voice sounded harsh, especially for the light tone he usually kept. He turned his gaze to the window Fred was pretending to look out, expression stony.

"Look at you like what?" Fred's voice sounded small after the way George's had cut through the air.

"Don't act like you don't know. Pretending not to look at me but watching as if you think I'm either about to do something incredibly dangerous or it's just painful to be around me. I don't know what's wrong with you lately." Fred felt a jolt of panic. George hadn't seemed to react much to anything Fred had done, yet here he was, revealing he'd seen far more than Fred had thought. And judging by his reaction, George wasn't happy with any of it, and Fred didn't know whether to try and talk his way out of the accusation or, as It was encouraging, confess. But he couldn't just confess, could he? The image of George's angry face flashing through his mind, sending a shudder of discomfort through him despite the fact it was only a dream.

Fred looked up to see George staring impatiently, realizing he was still waiting for response. Fred stared for a moment before opening his mouth. "You're not that painful to be around." He wanted to take back the words the moment they left his mouth. The expression that crossed George's face only made the feeling stronger, it was a mixture of hurt and anger and something else he couldn't quite pinpoint. "George, I didn't mean it like that. It was a joke." He forced a smile on his face, heart sinking when George only looked away. There was an awkwardly empty moment before George rose from his seat and walked to the door silently, walking out of the car. Fred watched, irritated beyond words with himself. Not only had he managed to screw things up, he was still disgustingly hard from the remaining feelings of his dream. With a heavy sigh he rest his head against the window and closed his eyes, feeling further from George than he ever had before.


End file.
